


Moonlight and Coffee (Wild Thing Remix)

by rispacooper



Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Case Fic, M/M, Pining, Remix, Romance, Slash, Stakeout, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-14
Updated: 2011-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-18 01:51:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rispacooper/pseuds/rispacooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray and Fraser on a stakeout, again. (Or, the time I remixed my own werewolf story and told it again in a different way with a different ending.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlight and Coffee (Wild Thing Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Wild Thing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/183654) by [rispacooper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rispacooper/pseuds/rispacooper). 



> You might also notice references to the movie "Cursed". Why? Cuz it's awesome.

“I fuckin’ hate stakeouts,” Ray said, again, with a slight hitch in his breathing. A hitch in Ray’s breathing could mean nothing of course, since very little is even about Ray, from his hair to his clothing choices, so it is only natural that his breathing would be uneven too. Not that Fraser knows precisely what is natural anymore. Not since that last trip up to the Territories…

But that was hardly relevant to the current situation, and it would get him nowhere to dwell on his predicament, just as it would get him nowhere to ponder the small, soft noises Ray made when he forced to sit still for long periods of time, or the way that that last hitch in Ray’s breathing had been almost like a pause, as though Ray were waiting for his response. Which was hardly likely, considering that Ray had seemed annoyed with him for the past few weeks, beyond even his usual façade of the quick-tempered cop.

Fraser could recall each stinging little jab Ray had directed at him with near perfect accuracy, each passing joke about what a freak he was. Ray always smiled as he said them, smiled wide enough to show the points of his canine teeth, as though to tell him it was all in fun. But Ray’s eyes would slide away, as would the warm hand he had rested on Fraser’s back, and then he would be talking loudly of his recent vacation with the policewoman he had met from the 19th precinct.

Fraser continued to stare out the window of the GTO, closing his eyes to bask in the silvery light of the moon, hoping it would ease the sick throbbing at his temples. Detectives Huey and Dewey had not seemed to mind the volume of Ray’s voice as he went on, once again, about sun, sand, and the wild nights at his resort, but Fraser thought he might be sick if he was forced to listen to it once more.

Another aspect of his gift, he supposed. His gift, or his curse, depending on the source, and of course his proximity to Ray. With his eyes shut like this he did not have to see Ray, but he could still hear him, hear him enough to imagine the familiar movements.

Ray was bored and restless and fairly crackling with irritation at being stuck, as he put it, in the car when nothing was going to happen tonight and there was action going on somewhere else. His breathing had grown irregular once more as he had said that, leaving Fraser in no doubt as to what he had meant by “action.” And when Fraser had not responded beyond a polite noise of agreement, the ‘hm’ that Ray say so objected to, Ray’s breath had gotten hot, heavy. He had turned his head, leaving a circle of condensation shaped like his mouth on the window glass.

“You ain’t got urges up North?” Ray had turned back in the next moment, facing Fraser instead of his reflection, and for one second, only as long as it took Ray’s long eyelashes to sweep up and down, he had studied him. Then with Fraser transfixed, Ray let his air get trapped in his chest and coughed a few times as he darted his gaze every which way but at him.

“They even got women up there in the Yukon Territories?” That the stab had been deliberate, the _two_ stabs—for Ray was more clever than he let on— had been deliberate did not make them any less irritating, and Fraser scowled at just the memory. Less than an hour ago and he was still considering egregious bodily harm.

In his defense, he had sat through nearly two months of this behavior from Ray, and tonight was…tonight was going to be a trial. To think he hoped a quiet night alone with Ray would be a relief.

He had always considered himself fairly attuned to nature, but now it was as though the moonlight was calling to him. It made him think of childhood stories of the Wendigo, beckoning him out into the storms to devour him, a legend he would never have truly believed until the first morning he had woken up to find his clothes torn from him and Diefenbaker staring at him with what could only be described as sly amusement.

In the driver’s seat, Ray shifted, and Fraser brought his mind back to the present, to the case. He opened his eyes with a slight pang of guilt, and kept them resolutely trained on the warehouse across the street. He did not even have to strain to tell that there was no one inside, but he wished there were, so he would not have to hear the rough scrape of denim against the car’s seat as Ray furtively slid down, and then back up.

His t-shirt was cotton, plain black cotton, but Fraser could have tracked Ray through a crowd of screaming children from the way the worn fabric moved and clung and rubbed against his skin.

He sighed and dared another look up at the moon, staring at the craters that many read as a face. Then his vision shifted and he saw the reflection of Ray’s lap nearly pressed against the steering wheel. Irritated or not, Ray was slouched in his seat, his hand along one thigh, his thumb moving slowly along the seam on the inside of his jeans.

The reflection did not give him a glimpse of Ray’s face, and without thinking Fraser turned. He got a hint of the wide, startled blue of Ray’s eyes, and then Ray shrugged and twisted in his seat to look out the rear window. There were creases at Ray’s eyes, signs of his age, but also lines of tension that Ray was not going to address. At least not with him, not anymore.

Fraser continued to stare, his eyes tracking the motions as Ray brought his hand up and rubbed at his mouth. The light pink of his lips bloomed with colour at the rough treatment, and then Ray took his hand away.

“Nothing’s going to happen tonight, Fraser,” Ray broke out suddenly, his voice tight and vibrating with some warning. Fraser felt his lips flatten into a thin line but did nothing to hide it, not even when he saw Ray’s quick sideways glance. It was no surprise at all that seeing him openly annoyed barely made Ray pause.

Ray’s heart rate fluctuated wildly, it always did, in no small part due to the amounts of caffeine and sugar he imbibed on a regular basis. But this gift, this odd—and indeed, freakish—predicament of his had given Fraser the opportunity to listen, to memorize the unsteady rhythm of Ray’s heart. With his eyes closed he thought he could hear the blood itself moving, the rushing sound of valves opening and closing, but whatever the situation, whatever Ray said, it was only when he was truly angry that his pulse pounded as fast and tight as a snare drum, something about it as fearsome as the shaking tail of a rattlesnake.

Ray’s heart now was quick, alternating heavy and light, but not dangerous, and so when he spoke Fraser felt himself frowning and gripping tighter on the door handle.

“I could’ve stayed longer on my vacation. I probably could have still been there. But you _had_ to call me back, Fraser and now we’re here…” To imply that Fraser had been the reason Ray had come home early from his trip was just…ludicrous. It wasn’t just ludicrous, it was close to a direct lie, and Fraser opened his mouth then shut it again quickly before he came close to saying the words he had been thinking about saying for months now.

“I have never had a problem finding action, Ray. I don’t think location really matters, for the right person,” he said instead, not quite able to believe he was hearing himself. It was always startling to hear the testy note in his voice that Ray—this Ray—seemed able to pull from him with so little effort. At times it felt like someone else was speaking, a different Fraser, but he could heard the words rumbling in his chest as he spoke, and felt his lips turning up when Ray turned back in his seat to face front.

Ray’s eyes narrowed, his sharp eyes raking over his body, his face, settling nowhere, and Fraser lifted his chin, waiting for the response he knew was coming.

But Ray only sighed and turned back to stare back out at the deserted alleyway.

“Yeah, I bet.” He snorted softly, and it seemed strange that such a noise could be gentle. The contradiction that was Ray only reminded Fraser of the burn he had felt at the start of their evening, impatience and dread mixing uneasily in his stomach like sodium bicarbonate and vinegar. He could have been sick in the middle of the station, imagining how long, how close he would be with Ray tonight. He had not asked for it; Ray had assumed, given him one glance full of longing before perhaps a trace of fear had made Ray look away.

He’d left Fraser staring, dry-mouthed and uncertain, not wanting to dare, and perhaps he had flinched a little too strongly when Francesca had come up behind him and touched him. He had not meant to startle her; she had simply been too close. As always, maybe worse of late, and even knowing the reason why, Fraser grimaced.

In truth it was not only Francesca. In truth it had no longer been mostly women. And so he had made the mistake of thinking a quiet night in the car with Ray might be a relief from all those figures pressing on him, sensing what he had never wanted to be. It had been quite foolish of him.

Ray sighed again, taking a deep breath first that drew Fraser’s eyes back to him. Ray lifted a hand in a vague motion, one that seemed apologetic. He must have assumed his words had stung, because he glanced over and met Fraser’s eyes. He smiled a little, and Fraser felt something thump much too hard against his ribs.

“Yeah, Fraser. People only got to take one look at you to see Trouble is your middle name.”

It was not his middle name at all, which Ray of course knew, which meant it was a joke. But while he was occupied in determining that, and in trying to get his heart to resume its normal beat, Ray’s smile faded and he shrugged and turned away.

Ray was staring at the moon, studying it or perhaps not seeing it at all. He was at once restless and subdued tonight, and it would have been enough to make Fraser believe in the effects of the full moon on the human psyche if his recent “gift” had not already forced him to.

Like Ray, the moon had its own pull, a magnetic force that had called to man for eons, made him wish to defy gravity and try to fly. Helplessly, Fraser also turned his face to it and closed his eyes.

It was feeling music on his skin, basking in a slight weight that no one else could feel. At one time he had wished it had been hallucinogens that had made him feel this way. Now he only welcomed the distraction from the man next to him. He curled his hands into fists in his lap, until his fingernails dug into his palms like claws.

He shivered, and felt the fine hair on the back of his neck stand up, felt his muscles tense, imagining a ridge of raised fur down his back.

He could not breathe, and gave in to that temptation as well, opening his mouth to let the silver light run along his tongue. He could smell it, taste it, even with the windows closed. It was the smell of the Heavens themselves, and it had him nearly panting like a thirsty dog.

Fraser swallowed, and eased his head back, locking his throat against the sudden need to call out. He would alarm Ray, he would…

 _Ray_. The force hit him as suddenly as the moon had taken hold of him. He should have cracked a window, he should have stepped away for a moment, he should not have stayed, trapped in such a small space filled with so much of Ray.

Vague knowledge of Ray he always had tried not to absorb, details he had not wanted to let himself know, they came to him now, smells and images, the touch of gel across the back of his hand, sour-bitter stale coffee stolen from the precinct break room in his lungs, and the spiced synthetic trace of aftershave that did not disguise the healthy, rich scent of Ray’s sweat.

Ray was wearing the same shirt he had worn yesterday, faded black cotton with dark stains beneath his arms. He had not done his laundry, and Fraser thought of offering to do it for him, his face heating at simply the idea of washing Ray’s clothing, of presuming to ask for something so intimate. He shifted, embarrassed at his own foolishness, grateful for once that Ray that had been so distant lately. It meant that at least Ray would never know how warmly Fraser thought of the domestic pleasures of detergent and matched socks.

Then he thought, not for the first time, that he made a very poor werewolf indeed.

He shifted once more, uncomfortable with that thought as well and Ray’s voice suddenly broke through his dreams.

“If you do have some…place…where you’d rather be, Fraser, you can take off,” he offered, his voice flat.

Fraser blinked, pulling his attention from the moon but otherwise unmoving. Some part of him, the part that had never wanted to come here with Ray tonight wanted to run, to at least hide his head to Ray would not see the hurt in his expression.

“Would you like me to leave, Ray?” he wondered carefully, trying not to flinch when Ray hesitated. He paused for air, as though his answer was yes but he did not wish to say it. Finally he shook his head, refusing to make eye contact.

“No.” He rolled his shoulders and Fraser swallowed, his tongue still thick with the mingled tastes of moonlight and coffee. “If you want to. I’ve seen…” Ray swallowed too, the sound loud in the car. He squinted as though he tasted something unpleasant. “Never mind, Fraser.” Ray turned to look out the side window, and the motion was too fast. Air stirred and Fraser caught a new scent. Ray’s heart beat, fast and worried.

“What, Ray?” He asked despite how his own heart pounded, and the sudden cold rush into the pit of his stomach. It was maddening. Ray was maddening. Everything in him wished to be quiet and yet his mouth was moving against his will, his voice level rising when Ray only shot him an annoyed glance. “It was obvious you were about to say something,” he explained, as though it were not already apparent to Ray.

Ray shot him another look for that, a look as tight and angry as his looks had only been at the beginning of their partnership. His eyes narrowed and he put out a hand to grip hard at the steering wheel.

“I seen how they look at you, Frase,” Ray snapped suddenly, biting out his words. “I’m not blind,” he muttered, almost to himself, but he had to be aware that Fraser could still hear him. He looked up again and went still except for the rapid shift of feelings in his eyes. There was something quite wild about his eyes, something that brought the hair up on Fraser’s neck again, that made his own eyes widen and his mouth go dry. But Ray did not seem to notice his preoccupation. “I know you meant it. So go get some, ok, Fraser.” For a second it as though Ray was both asking and telling him to leave. Then he shook his head violently and kept on, pressing in a way that only Ray did. “Action I mean. Go get some. I mean, even the wolf is, right?”

Ray cut himself off there with a brittle laugh and a gesture for the empty backseat where Diefenbaker would usually be standing vigil with them, then swallowed and went silent.

His mouth was open. Fraser realized that after a long moment and shut it so quickly his teeth snapped together. He found he did not mind the sensation and even prolonged it, clenching his jaw for a second until the bones ached. He realized he was frowning as well, and felt the tension relocate to his shoulders as he held himself stiffly away from the back of the seat.

He tried to speak and couldn’t. Truthfully, he wasn’t even sure what to respond to. The accusation that he drew the eye…there was no denying that, the shamans and even the books he had read on the subject spoke of the same charm, the natural lure of the wolf. And for those like Francesca—if there were any others in the world as unique as Francesca—the situation only seemed to have gotten increasingly…tense. The consulate did not even seem a safe place anymore, unless he was alone.

Fraser licked his lips and flinched at all the remembered looks now, even the occasionally… _pinch_ …due to the gift he had not asked for. The only person who had not tried to molest in some way had been Ray.

For a moment Fraser bit down again, clenching his jaw hard against the words that he wished to say about that. He turned, his neck so stiff it cracked at the motion and from the corner of his eye he saw Ray glance at him.

Ray seemed to do the opposite, of course. Ray was not only resistant to the supposed charm, he had seemed actively annoyed with him for it. The camaraderie they had worked so hard for seemed almost gone, there were no more casual touches, and fewer and fewer of the shared meals that Fraser had perhaps come to enjoy too much.

“I just don’t want you to think that I want you like…” Ray added, only to stop when his voice cracked. “I wouldn’t stop you, that’s all,” he finished, and thumped a quick rhythm on the steering wheel. He leaned up to peer out the window, making a show of being engaged in his stakeout activities, when Fraser only had to look out once to see the alley remained deserted.

Ray supposed he wanted the attention, and why shouldn’t he? Ray certainly would have taken advantage of a condition like this, were he in Fraser’s shoes. Another other man would have, Fraser knew, but shook away the images of Ray collecting a harem of admirers.

“I assure you, Ray, there is nowhere I’d rather be than here.” Fraser felt himself breathing too heavily and looked over quickly, just in time to catch Ray’s eye. The wide, startled blue made his chest tighten, trapping his heart painfully within his rib cage as it tried to fly from him. He could hear it beat, as loud and clear as Ray’s.

The emotion was real, close enough for him to taste it, and he softened his lips, licking the strange scent from them. It tasted warm, sweet and spicy, like licking a wound. He inhaled sharply and did not imagine the dilation of Ray’s pupils, or the hint of Ray’s tongue as Ray no doubt unconsciously copied his motion.

There, in his chest, perhaps from even deeper than that, he felt the need to call out once more, felt his body tense with the desire to spring. It was a fear he did not allow himself to feel much, a fear that this new part of him welcomed. His nerves were on fire, action coiling in his blood until he reached out and put his trembling fingers out over Ray’s hand.

Ray shot himself back against the door so quickly that the car rocked, his face twisting before he turned away. His head went from side to side, his eyes round as he looked for suspects—or witnesses—and his body heaved with each breath. He was so quick it was a moment before Fraser could pull his hand back and compose himself.

He looked down, stared at the dashboard for a while and trying not to listen to frightened sound in Ray’s pulse. It was his fault for needing Ray so much he had stayed near him in his condition. He should have at least warned Ray. Instead he had…he had clearly been tormenting Ray and allowing himself to believe for a moment that the situation was normal and Ray would return his feelings without the effects of the curse.

“My apologies, Ray.” He had to say it even with his mouth parched and his voice thick. “I’m afraid there’s something I should have told you before...”

“Well I don’t want to hear it, Fraser.” Ray was speaking without opening his mouth, something that seemed vaguely childish. Perhaps that was the reason that Fraser wanted to frown and why he turned back to stare at Ray despite his embarrassment.

“I think you should, Ray.” He pressed on as Ray might have and paused for only a second when Ray gave him a look through narrowed eyes. “You see, on my last trip home…”

“You met some gorgeous Eskimo babe and you finally realized you were irresistible,” Ray remarked, no doubt being deliberately facetious to irritate him, since Fraser had already told him several times about the term Eskimo and he had long since stopped believing in Ray’s pretense of being slow-witted.

“I have told you before about the term Eskimo, Ray,” he said anyway, “And not precisely, no...” He pressed his lips together when Ray just lifted his eyebrows in an exaggerated expression of interest and did not face him. He let out a long, noisy breath and caught the slight upward curve of Ray’s mouth. He stopped himself at the rush of heat in his face, down his neck.

Ray leaned forward, resting his chin for a moment on the top of the steering wheel. The moonlight streamed down over him as though it had been waiting for the chance, and it granted Fraser everything, the tense lines at his eyes, the muscles working at his temple, the blush of color at his cheeks.

“So you got some other problem,” Ray guessed stiffly, asking questions even after he feigned disinterest. It was another Ray contradiction, infuriating and bewildering, and once again Fraser felt himself reacting to the provocation in it. Everyone did, he found, even those who wished to hate him; it was Ray’s own particular charm.

He sat up, fighting the urge to snap back, to grab hold of Ray and speak the truth, to lick the mystery from his skin until he reached the bone, until it wasn’t a mystery any longer. He knew the smell of all the others, had had to get used to the constant simmering scent of desire. He thought Ray might taste of the same heat, even if it was obviously against his will, and almost wished he would, just as he also wished for Ray’s scent to hold something warmer.

“Which just proves you’re a freak,” Ray mumbled under his breath to make him angry, a Ray defense mechanism that Fraser ignored with a sudden dizzying whirl of thoughts. He inhaled through his nose, and for one dream-like moment it was as though the light filled him, made him stronger, taller, smarter, everything he had always wanted to be. All of that because of Ray. He moved and the pull of his red serge at his shoulders called him back.

He closed his eyes, then opened them because hiding from this would not make it disappear. It was all his fault. He had not been able to resist staying with Ray even when he should have held himself—and his curse—back, and now he was going to hurt Ray terribly because of it.

“Ray,” he tried again, his voice rough. He coughed and smoothed his hands over his legs. “I really ought to tell you that I’m…”

“How about we just sit here, Fraser?” Ray interrupted him, quite rudely and moved his legs as though he were driving himself somewhere far, far away. “We can just sit here and not talk and not think about…anything, ok? We’ll just sit here and make like normal cops on a stakeout, all right?”

Normal. The word, as Ray undoubtedly meant it, was like sandpaper on his skin, nails against glass, and Fraser was already too sensitized after being trapped with Ray beneath the moonlight for so long. He put his hands out and felt them curl into the dashboard. He would leave marks. Ray would not be able to see them, but Fraser would know they were there.

“I assume by that you mean consuming large quantities of glazed donuts and stale coffee, Ray?” he inquired, in the politest voice he could muster. Which was, he supposed, the reason that Ray sat back and shot him a hard look, as Ray always seemed to know the difference between that and real courtesy when no one else ever did. But now Fraser only frowned back at him and thought that he never would have approached this level of peevishness with anyone else.

“I mean by that that we sit here and not talk about _whoever_ you got chasing after you tonight,” Ray snapped back at him, just as peevish if not more so. But the predictability of the testy response allowed Fraser to ignore most of it, only to feel himself drawn back once he replayed the strange emphasis Ray had put on _whoever_.

Another time perhaps he would have blushed, uncomfortable to realize that he was the center of attention, even more uncomfortable to realize that he had been observed. But of course Ray had been paying attention to the increased attention he had been receiving. Ray had always kept careful track of those who had shown an interest him, the women who had seemed distracted by his uniform, or, as his father had often assured him over his doubts, the figure beneath it as well.

But of course, lately if the women had been overwhelming, then the men had been far less subtle than usual, and Ray had…Ray had apparently finally noticed.

Fraser jerked his head up at the sour-bitter scent that he had thought was coffee. It was so strong he could lick it from his lips, and felt it warm here, as though he had taken a sip after all.

He couldn’t help it, and turned his head even further, tracking the taste back to Ray. Other than that brief glare, Ray had not turned away from the moonlight. He would have looked like a part of it if he hadn’t shifted restlessly under the force of Fraser’s stare. He shifted as he had before, sliding against the seat, angling his legs further apart, inches shy of rubbing himself across the bottom of the steering wheel. His body moved loosely and his hands were studies in tension, tight, hurried motion in the air in front of him.

His heart was a wild thing, flailing rapidly in his chest.

Fraser dropped his hands and ran his damp palms down his thighs. His mouth watered at the possibility of what lay before him, and no matter how much he knew ought to resist, he wanted to reach out and gather what fruit he could.

“What?” Ray demanded finally, his agitation making him twitch and fling his hands up. “You don’t want to go be the stud of the Chicago, Fraser then it’s A-ok with me.” Ray was looking at him, but apparently not seeing anything, and distantly Fraser thought of asking about his glasses. Ray didn’t give him a chance however, just rolling on and gathering steam in a way that meant he was approaching critical mass.

Whatever Ray said now there would be no taking back and a better friend would have said something to try to appease him. Fraser swept the flood of jealousy from his mouth and lifted one eyebrow. “Yes, Ray?” he asked politely and felt prickles along his skin when Ray sucked in a long breath.

“Because you got action all right, Benton.” Ray held out his fingers, ticking them off one by one. “You got Frannie and the Ice Queen and every girl down in Records and the two ladies in Booking, and the waitresses at _both_ Chinese places, and the hot chick who sells balloons to kids in the park, and those are just the ones who don’t mind making themselves obvious, even though they’re each of them hotter than Cindy Crawford and you don’t give ‘em the time of day.”

Fraser blinked at that but Ray wasn’t done. He brought up his hands again and then hesitated before simply making two fists and dropping them both to his lap. “Then you got the quiet ones, like Elaine. All of ‘em wanting you and you don’t even seem to notice… Maybe you’re just distracted, what with Turnbull and the _waiter_ at the Chinese place and I ain’t even sure about Dewey anymore and...”

Ray’s voice cracked and he cleared it. “You just want to sit in the car with me, Fraser? You wouldn’t rather be doing anything else? Yeah.” He snorted and looked out the side window. “I don’t need it, Fraser,” Ray told the window, barely pausing to give Fraser time to think on what ‘it’ meant, before coming to an abrupt, crashing halt. “I don’t need y…”

Even with the roar of blood at his ears, and gasping at the immeasurable force that slammed into his chest, Fraser heard the lie in Ray’s heartbeat. It stuttered, slowed, picking up only when Fraser tried to pull in a breath. For a moment he couldn’t and felt himself flash back to being thrown by a frightened horse once. The ground had come at him too fast, but even lying there winded and in pain his only thought had been for the animal.

Ray’s words were full of the kind of anger that even the Lieutenant would not have questioned, but the rest of him was a lie. Ray was lying, to protect himself perhaps, or more likely to Ray’s nature, to protect someone else. And it was even more likely that the person Ray was protecting was Fraser himself.

Oxygen reached him at last, flooding his mind and leaving him momentarily dizzy. He let himself lean back into the seat. This was his fault. Unintentionally due to his newfound lupine nature, he had done this to Ray. To the others as well, but Ray was his main concern, especially as Ray had apparently tried to control himself for his benefit.

“Fraser,” Ray said suddenly, waving a tired hand to indicate a coming apology and Fraser jerked his chin up.

“I am not interested in any of them, Ray,” he interrupted. The words were warm on his cold lips. It was the least he could offer, the truth. “It is as simple as that, though, at the same time, far more complex,” he was compelled to add, shaking his head.

“Why not?” Ray ignored the last part in any case, releasing one long sigh and sinking down. He did not look back, and his angle was such that Fraser could not see his reflection in the side window. He studied the fine blond hairs at his neck instead, part of one ear lobe that he sometimes imagined had once held a piercing though there was no evidence of that. “They’re all gorgeous and hot to trot. For _you_ , Fraser, in case you don’t get that either,” Ray finished with sarcastic bite, and then suddenly he was turning back, something earnest on his face and Fraser was forced to turn his own expression to something bland.

Ray frowned at him for that as well, somehow not as fooled as he should have been. “…You care about anyon…any _thing_ , Fraser?”

“Oh yes, Ray.” The answer slipped out despite himself and Fraser looked away first, scratching at his nose for a moment while several plausible-sounding evasions came to mind. He inhaled then coughed, turning warily with the definite sense that his hackles were up, and almost surprised to not see a corresponding mammalian reaction from Ray. The light in Ray’s eyes however, was quite feral, proving that Fraser had managed to rile him anyway.

“Maybe you ought to stop torturing them, Fraser.” Ray’s voice was rough and dry, rasping in a way Fraser had last heard when Ray had spoken the name of his ex-wife. “Maybe it’s cruel to make them watch while you go and…be _you_...with everyone eating you up with their eyes, and meanwhile thinking that somewhere they got a chance when you know they don’t. ‘Cause they don’t, do they, Fraser?”

It hurt to look in Ray’s eyes and see what he had done. Ray, as always, had managed to paint a vivid picture with words and emotion alone.

“Are you implying that I _flaunt_ myself, Ray?” The question came out sharp with disbelief. Nothing could be further from the truth. Ray didn’t understand; could never know the kind of loneliness he had lived with for years, the simple shock to realize to realize that people might want him, even before all this. He had always watched as others went off on dates or lover’s tryst to exotic locations, and only allowed himself to sneak glances at their casual touches and shared smiles while they followed their most basic instincts to couple.

He focused outward to find Ray watching him, as Ray always did, and felt his jaw set before he realized he was frowning. Perhaps Ray understood it all too well, and if that was so, Ray had no right to level such a charge at him. With his curse in place it was like having amplified hearing and being amongst the roaring crowd at Wrigley Field. He hadn’t chosen it. If he had gotten to choose he would have had something else entirely.

He turned to the window for strength, recklessly baring himself to the moonlight. Ray misinterpreted of course, Ray thought he was being shut out, and as before with Stella it made him press on with all his strength, even when he was wrong.

“You might as well be, Fraser.” Ray accused him. “You act like you want it, treating ‘em like they’re special, listening to them, helping them, _touching_ them…you even…” Whatever Ray had been going to say was evidently not for his ears, even his enhanced ears. Fraser heard him swallow, the sound wet, and the aroused, alarmed state of his vital signs were enough to verify Ray’s feelings—or what he thought he was feeling.

He had to end this. He just had to fight his own impulses no matter how strong and bury this until he could find some way to be rid of it, for Ray’s sake.

It wasn’t fair, as few things rarely ever were no matter what he told Ray. His hands were fists and his jaw was tight but Ray would not see any of that. He was wounded and striking out and Fraser knew from experience that the only way to stop Ray’s desperate shadowboxing was to strike first.

“Ray,” he said at last, and saw a flicker of movement and dim light in the building across from them. He narrowed his gaze to that but still heard Ray’s heartbeat spike at his name. He closed his eyes. “…if you say another word I am going to assume that you are jealous.”

Someone pulled in a breath and held it and Fraser felt his tunic grow tight.

After everything he had no right either, but it seemed he couldn’t help going on, his voice ringing and his cheeks burning to say it aloud. “You sound jealous, Ray.” He opened his eyes and tugged at his collar, at the uniform he wanted to strip off. He could run now, far away, far enough North that the sun would not set and there would be no moon to deal with.

For now he stayed, angling his head to look the stunned, quiet Ray across from him, his face washed with a pink, as rosy as his lips in the winter cold, his eyes larger than the moon outside and dark.

He had stunned Ray into silence. It was an achievement that the Lieutenant would have thanked him for. Fraser roughly popped his collar open and yanked free brass buttons. He felt some part of Ray watching that with just as much surprise.

The last time Ray had held still for so long with that open-mouthed, dazed expression had been when a witness had been brought in to make her statement about an assault at a night club and had turned out to work there in a form of entertainment involving a pole. From her demonstration, she had seemed quite skilled. Ray had been dancing around her in seconds, bold and shy in alternating turns.

The one before that had been another attorney like his ex-wife, working pro-bono for abused women. He had taken her to dinner at the Italian restaurant where Fraser had convinced him to try ravioli stuffed with spinach, which he had enjoyed despite his supposed loathing of that vegetable. She hadn’t made him smile, but Ray hadn’t seemed to mind.

“Maybe you know all about it because you are the same, Ray.” Fraser put his hand on the door at the first little line appearing on Ray’s forehead, the quick blaze of growing temper in his eyes to hear what Fraser shouldn’t have added.

He turned away, shutting his mouth so he couldn’t taste what Ray was feeling, and swung the door wide.

“Fraser!” Ray called out as Fraser slid free of the seat, leaving his hat behind. “Fraser,” he said it again, his voice hot, not quite drowning out the noises coming from the building they were supposed to be watching. He couldn’t hear them, but Fraser felt his head go up, letting out a long, shuddering breath at the moonlight on his bare head.

The serge caught on the door as he tried to leave and he pulled hard on it without looking back.

“A crime is being committed, Ray,” he managed and then moved forward effortlessly, the chill in the air welcome against his face.

He reached a door in moments and heard Ray scrambling not far behind, still shouting after him. Fraser ignored him and reached out, realizing that the door was locked and kicking out in the same motion. The thick wood splintered, swallowing Ray’s startled swearing behind him. Fraser only curled his hands, shoving the broken door out of his way and charging ahead.

There was only one light swinging high above, but he didn’t need light. Even in near-dark he could make out the gleaming reflection of guns, smell the three distinct men, the fear and anger. Sweat. Gun oil. Urine. There was a rat climbing inside the walls somewhere nearby, and footsteps approaching.

Ray. Fraser’s chest heaved and he stopped short. Ray’s heart was beating steadily behind him, waiting. Fraser put his hands down at his sides, trying to breathe, trying to remember. He left his palms facing Ray, wanting Ray to hold back as eyes turned to him standing fully silhouetted in the doorway.

He located them just as easily and lowered his head. His breath came in short, hard bursts, his skin was on fire. He was getting too close.

“Who the fuck are you?” One man called out in crude, rough sounds. Fraser frowned and felt his mouth open in response, words emerging that he didn’t know, his voice strangely deep.

“I’m with the police. I’m going to have to ask you to stop what you were doing and come with me.” He thought maybe he had said those words once before, some time ago to different criminals, but these men seemed to understand them. To him they felt dry, empty, and he opened his mouth, licking traces from his lips to get another hint of Ray on his tongue.

Ray was close, warm, safe. He could proceed.

The thought flared in his mind like fireworks and he jumped forward, moving his head to follow the sound of skittering heartbeats, cessations of breath. In the back of his mind the knowledge came and went that this was wrong, that the building had been watched in an effort to track down the owner, not to stumble upon this. But it was here now, he was here now, shockingly present, his pulse jumping.

Two of the men did not want him here. He could hear it in their furious growls, see it in their narrowed eyes and twisted mouths. They had guns, and he licked his lips and tasted grease and fear. If he narrowed his eyes in return, he did not notice, did not care, only baring his teeth at how they trembled, raising their guns with shaking arms to see him standing there unafraid.

He moved, twisting slowly, bringing himself down into a ready crouch and only distantly heard the click of a gun being cocked, the jerked, panicked cash somewhere to the side.

“Chicago P.D.!” Ray. Ray’s voice, ringing and unsteady, growing louder as he crept closer. Frightened, but he knew that voice, knew the startled, breathless cursing as much as he knew his own thundering heartbeat. “Just freeze right there, assholes!” His voice promised vengeance, felt like a firm hand at his neck soothing down raised hairs, and Fraser blinked, inching upward.

“They’re trying to kill me!” the one who reeked of urine screamed out, falling back as he was released. Fraser tracked him for a moment, his attention drawn back instantly at the motion, and then he heard Ray’s sharp breath as one of the men flung his arm outward.

“Man, fuck this!” He gestured with the gun at the air around him before turning and running. He went for the shadows, a blur of frantic motion, and the other called out for him, dropping his weapon.

“Ray,” Fraser managed the one word he could remember and moved, flowing like water down into the room before he even knew he was running. He did not turn back, couldn’t, not even when he felt the spike in Ray’s pulse, when he heard the soft, light sounds of Ray’s shoes scraping against cement, scrambling after the other gunman. Ran and the man he did not like ran in another direction, left him to follow the tangy scent of fear through black, twisting hallways.

The smell turned his stomach, made his breathing quicken until he opened his mouth. There were footsteps up ahead, along with a scent too harsh in his nose, like forests burning, like chemicals used to clean the human places. The other had carried that smell too, along with the wafting unpleasantness of urine.

Fraser shook his head to banish the odor, a noise escaping him when the scent only got stronger. It hurt.

The footsteps had died too, and he came to a sudden stop, dropping down low below the smell, catching his breath, listening for the sound of a man doing the same. The ground here was dirty, he could see even without light, see his hands curled into the cement in front of him. He frowned at them for a moment and then cocked his head to the side.

He caught it, the slide of a sweaty finger over metal, a hushed, quick inhalation. He had the image of a hand on a trigger and tossed his head to clear it. The man was close, waiting, and without straining Fraser stared through the darkness until he could see the slight shift of a foot, the hint of a shadow around one corner. His prey was nervous.

The sound echoed off the stones around him, the pleasing shiver of his howl as he moved, on the ground for a moment and then he was flying. He flew through the air and hit the lump of smelly man in his chest. It drew a cry from him and Fraser howled for that too, feeling the crush of landing through his legs. It pushed the air out of the man underneath him, left him weak and gasping, the whites of his eyes visible in the dark, his lips wet with spit.

The gun was still close, Fraser could smell it but he turned his head and saw the man’s hands empty.

“Please,” the man whispered, pleaded, his throat raw as harsh as the scent that drove him. The scent made Fraser’s nose feel as though it was burning, and he twisted his lips up, leaning in. “Shit.” The man shook underneath his weight, something strange reflected in the dark parts of his eyes.

“Fraser!” the voice rang out from someplace much too far away. Somewhere distant, someone knew his name and spoke it, warm and worried…and growing angry.

“Ray.” Fraser said, and blinked to hear himself speaking. He sucked in a breath and yanked his head up, staring with a distinct feeling of horror at the face of the terrified man he had pinned to the ground.

“Oh dear,” he said faintly, his heart giving one heavy thump against his ribs to see that the fear in the man’s face did not lesson one inch. He wondered for a moment, knowing the thought would torment him later, what this man had seen. It was, he tried to tell himself, dark, too dark for human eyes to see much at all.

Human eyes. Like the eyes reflecting back a vision from childhood nightmares. A creature unfamiliar to the streets of Chicago, as wild as they often were.

“I’m afraid,” Fraser murmured at last, swallowing to ease his wet mouth, longing to wipe away the evidence that he had no doubt been salivating with excitement at the chase. Ray was still calling for him. “…That I’ll have to place you under Citizen’s Arrest, as written in the Chicago penal code…”

“Aw, fuck this,” the man interrupted him to spit out and then went limp. His eyes closed as well, though his breathing was steady, and Fraser let out a breath of his own to realize the man had fainted.

He should not have felt grateful, but he had no wish to see the man’s expression when they returned to the light.

He turned away quickly, freeing his lanyard and using it to bind the man’s wrists after frisking him for any other weapons. He took the gun then stood up with aching muscles. His bones felt odd, misshapen for a moment as he stood on two legs only, and then he bent back down to hoist the unconscious body over his shoulder.

He found his way back with ease, some part of him remembering the journey, but after the thick darkness of the back rooms, the shining light of the one overhead bulb made him pause in the doorway, wincing as his eyes tried to adjust to something less sensitive, more human.

Ray had his back to him and was threatening to kick the man he had handcuffed to a pipe sticking out of the ground. Ray seemed unhurt, moving as freely as before, his gun holstered, and when Fraser lifted his head he could not detect the iron trace of blood in the air.

He glanced around once but the other man, the apparent victim, was gone. This was perhaps the reason the Ray was swearing fiercely at the one he had taken into custody. He recalled something of the law, that a witness to swear to being assaulted would have been helpful, but as they had drawn their weapons on a member of the police department—and no doubt unregistered weapons as well—they would not be escaping justice.

“Ray,” the sound escaped with a sigh of relief, his shoulders slumped a little as he moved forward. Ray swung around with a tight frown on his face, his gaze raking up and down over his body. Instead of easing, his frown got tighter and Fraser stopped where he was, sliding his heavy burden from his shoulder and setting the sleeping man carefully on the floor.

He focused on that for a moment at the dry sound of Ray’s voice, as though he had forgotten to swallow.

“Fraser. Jesus,” Ray swore, still for all of a moment before he stepped forward. He reached out, not quite touching him but stopping regardless when Fraser flinched. Ray drew his hand back and crossed his arms. “What the hell did that scumbag do to you?” he demanded, breaking his stance to wave at his chest, and at that Fraser looked down, knowing he would see torn fabric as he did.

It was like it was always was; the animal in such a hurry to be free that it spared no thought for his clothes. If he had been alone on a night like this, he would have locked himself in a room and stripped himself before the moon rose.

His cheeks felt hot even though he shivered. He had ripped the top of his tunic, ripped it down far enough to expose part of his Henley and patches of skin.

“That was my fault,” he said at last, coughing when his voice remained a growl.

Ray was staring at him. At his chest, at his face, his breathing growing quick and agitated.

“ _Your_ fault…” Ray challenged after a moment, his brows together in a frown of displeasure. He would not stop staring. Fraser could feel his eyes, felt them heavy and hard, saying what Ray’s mouth wouldn’t. It was so much worse when Ray went from being unable to shut his mouth to complete silence. Fraser shifted, itching to move, to run so fast he was close to flying once again, even if it meant Ray would see his other form.

The burning traveled from his face to his neck, down to the skin that the wolf had chosen to bare, and he knew Ray could see it.

He jerked his head up—drawing Ray’s eyes back to his face—and swallowed.

“You’re alright, right, Fraser?” Fierce blue asked for the truth, threatened to beat it out of him if he didn’t confess, and while his heart pounded heavily as any suspect in the interrogation room’s heart might to be the focus of that look, Fraser knew his pulse wasn’t racing out of fear.

“No, not exactly, Ray,” he admitted, something he suspected was relief to finally say it left him weak and swaying. He closed his eyes and opened them to find that Ray hadn’t moved. He only continued to stare at him with an incomplete frown on his face, and torn between worlds, Fraser could not seem to translate the smell that came to him.

For a moment Ray’s mouth opened, his chest moving as he pulled in air, doubtless in preparation for a rant about his freakish problems. But then Ray dragged a hand through his hair and turned away with a sigh.

“So what’s wrong with you?” Ray asked, his shoulders twitching. He glanced around, to the two others in the building with them. He looked back up once, carefully, and Fraser felt his mind careening from an embarrassed knowledge of the effect Ray was having on him to a serious study of the fall of Ray’s eyelashes on his cheeks.

Unlike Diefenbaker he could still detect the full range of colours, and in the dim light from the single dusty light bulb far above them, Ray was a melding array of pastels and gold, white and cream, rosy pinks so warm Fraser could already feel them against his lips.

He sucked in a deep breath and the sound spurred Ray to motion.

“Whatever.” He dismissed everything easily with one bitter word. “Guess if our guy was gonna show, this woulda scared him off.”

“Ray.” He was surprised to feel his hands clenching, as though he were fighting off anger. But it was not quite that, not yet, even there were hints of fire and smoke in the air. He should have been shaking, some part of his brain that would have been calm on any other night but a night with a full moon knew that. He should have been coming down from rush of adrenaline and yet his exhaustion of a moment before was fading.

He stood straight, his chin lifting as Ray went on about the Lieutenant’s wrath for this, and distantly, he could hear himself, repeating Ray’s name, getting louder when Ray ignored him. He wanted to yell as Ray would have, wanted to howl, and wondered what Ray would do if he did, if he were to pull the serge from his body and reveal the truth. To admit to one secret was to admit to all of them.

“Ray…” He could not breathe. He was shaking now, trembling as Ray did before he crossed his arms again to hide his hands. That was his fault as well, for withholding the truth from Ray.

“And you can go ahead and tell Welsh how you knew there were people in the building even though there’s no way you could have known that, Fraser, even with _your_ ears and…”

“Ray!” The whipcrack sound of Ray’s name made Ray quiet at last and startled even the unconscious man on the ground into a soft moan. Fraser scarcely recognized his own voice, the wild, wolfen edge to it that Ray had once again called out of him.

He felt himself straining to jump forward, and perhaps something of that was visible in his face. Ray’s eyes went to his and stayed there. So did those of the man Ray had handcuffed. Fraser made himself pull back at that, shaking his head like a dog did when smelling something unpleasant. It was fear, all that fire and smoke, and he could not tell if it was coming from him or Ray.

He couldn’t do this here.

“I need to talk to you for a moment, Ray. Outside if you don’t mind.” The words came out clipped, far too abrupt, and Ray was no doubt frowning at his tone, but Fraser did not stop to see for himself. He could not bare himself in such a foul, dark place, and not even the call of duty could force him to.

The air outside poured over him like water, silvery and sweet along his skin and Fraser walked out blindly, knowing it wasn’t quite his imagination that he could taste the moonlight in the breeze. It was nonetheless startling, and he stumbled for a moment, a little like a deaf man suddenly regaining his hearing and being bombarded with Mozart.

He moved a little to one side and then fell back against the brick wall. The discomfort was a welcome distraction from the force of the light on his bared skin. It pulled him back, reminded him even on the full moon nights he could still control this.

“Fraser,” Ray said his name and Fraser swayed forward, opening eyes he hadn’t known were closed.

Ray was…Ray was standing before him, bathed in the light, cool and warm, wrapped in a symphony and yet not a part of it. There was too much rock and roll there, and yet even as he had the thought, as he pictured Ray wearing moonlight alone, the light shifted, contoured itself to Ray, giving him dark eyes and skin that would taste far too familiar.

He shut his eyes again and decided coming outside was a mistake.

“Ray.” He choked on the name and Ray moved from one foot to the other. He could imagine him rubbing a hand over his face, the back of his neck, obviously uncomfortable.

“Look, before you say anything, Fraser, I gotta say something too.” Considering that Fraser had interrupted his bust to order him outside and was now leaning against a wall with his eyes closed, Ray sounded surprisingly calm. Or perhaps tired was a better word. Ray sighed heavily and Fraser felt one eye crack open. The other quickly followed. Ray wasn’t even looking at him.

“I’ve been thinking…” Ray admitted and Fraser could not stop himself.

“That’s a potentially dangerous statement, Ray,” he blurted out and knew his eyes widened. Ray’s head came up and Fraser licked at his lips, stretching his neck a little. “I really must apologize,” was all he could say before he had to clench his jaw to keep from adding anything else foolish.

Ray stared at him for a moment longer and then sighed again. He swiped a hand through his softly arranged spikes and then stared down at his hand.

“About that stuff you said about me,” he began as he shoved his hand in the pocket of his jeans and Fraser swallowed.

“Ray, there’s really something I ought to tell you first…” he tried, glaring upward at the compelling, infuriating moon when Ray decided to act as though he hadn’t spoken.

“This thing.” Ray shrugged, choosing not to elaborate on that particular subject and Fraser twisted to hide his face, not certain whether or not to be grateful for that. Ray’s gaze was still on him, careful, soft, and it was difficult not to turn over for more. “I was wondering how you knew. How you noticed, I mean. No one else ever did.”

“Hm,” he managed, humming to keep his mouth from falling open, to not pant as Dief had that first day at Ray’s initial displays of affection. Half-wolf or not, he was shameless where Ray was concerned.

He really ought to be trying to follow this conversation, as he knew that Ray had asked him a question. The problem in doing so was Ray himself, and once Fraser explained he did not think Ray would remain this gentle and understanding.

“I’ve been so shitty to you,” Ray admitted, the acknowledgment possibly more than he deserved for putting Ray through this torment in the first place.

“It’s…that’s already forgotten, Ray.” Opening his mouth was another mistake. He caught the moonlight on his lips, and hints of Ray as he leaned in closer.

“And then I thought; it takes one to know one, right? So that’s why you would know.”

“Yes.” He agreed blindly, feeling his vision sharpen and narrow, memorizing the dent in Ray’s top lip, the mark in the lower from one of Ray’s teeth. He swept his tongue over his own lips and then frowned, glancing up for one moment and getting trapped in a blanket of Ray-scent. He stumbled back and felt Ray’s heat as Ray stepped in, slapping one hand to the brick behind his head and leaning into him. “What?”

The word emerged slowly, too slowly as he fought to think, and his hands reached out, clumsy and awkward, to grab at Ray’s shoulders. He touched his t-shirt instead, thin cotton tight against his chest, burning hot, and Ray placed a hand along his jaw.

“Fraser,” Ray said, and blocked out the moonlight to kiss him.

The sweetest pang, swirling heat descending to the pit of his stomach like the rarest taste of alcohol, Ray’s lips on his, Ray’s hands, Ray’s breath. He groaned, the sound too loud to his ears, embarrassing, and a new rush of heat to his face made him yank away.

That in doing so he hit his head on the brick only seemed fitting. The pain at least helped to clear his mind.

Ray was blinking at him, his lips still softly open, wet and waiting, and Fraser fought to stay where he was. Ray did not move away, only his hand falling to Fraser’s shoulder, to the bared skin, and he shuddered from that too, trying to remember what he needed to say.

“This is my fault, Ray,” he confessed quickly and then realized he continued to hold onto handfuls of Ray’s shirt. With effort he uncurled his fingers and put them to the wall behind him. “You’re…I’m not…” He sucked in a breath and the air felt strange against his buzzing lips. “I’m cursed, Ray.”

There. At least the basic words were out. But Ray just laughed, short and without much humour.

“It feels like that sometimes, doesn’t it?” he tossed his head restlessly and moved forward once more. The look in his eyes was intoxicating. Fraser turned into it before he could help himself, Ray’s mouth inches from him before he recalled his reasons for coming outside in the first place. He pulled back again and this time Ray scowled at him for it.

“You don’t understand, Ray, I’m a werewolf.”

It was almost a relief when Ray pulled back from him, his chin lifting as it usually did when he heard something unbelievable. Fraser could understand that; on some level it was unbelievable, except that it was unfortunately also true.

“On my last trip to the Territories, I had an encounter with a rather odd creature. For a wolf it was much too large, even accounting for the increase in body mass in animals as they near the Artic Circle. I shouldn’t have approached it, but it was injured…”

“Fraser,” Ray interrupted him seriously, still frowning. “This is real hard for me, so don’t be like this. Don’t get all _Fraser_ on me.”

“I assure you, Ray…”

“You don’t gotta pretend with me. If you want to say no, then just say it, I can take it.” The swift glance to the side that followed that proved that a lie, even if Fraser couldn’t still feel the rapid uneven beat of Ray’s heart against his chest, or the rasping edge in Ray’s voice.

He had to admit the truth now and if Ray hated him than at least he would have helped set Ray’s mind at ease.

“It’s my fault, Ray.” He straightened his shoulders and dug his fingers into the unforgiving brick. “My fault because I stayed around you even knowing I was cursed. It is, in fact, according to the local who aided me, part of the curse.”

“What is?” Ray snarled at him, getting impatient with his explanation. He was close to growling, and then with a sudden jerk of his head he moved away, baring Fraser to the moon once more. He shivered as it poured over him.

“I’m appealing.” Fraser exhaled heavily and dropped his head. Which provided him with a view of Ray’s faded jeans and for Ray’s sake he directed his hungry gaze elsewhere. “I have an unnatural sexual allure.”

Ray snorted.

“Yeah,” he agreed, inching his way forward once more. “Yeah I got that, Fraser. You’re real hot.”

“No, Ray, I am _unnaturally_ , as you say, hot. And what you are feeling now is only the effect of my predicament, made worse…” It was suddenly difficult to breathe, his chest tightened until he could feel the throb of his heart against his ribs. It matched Ray’s uneven, furious pulse beat for beat. “…Made worse by my reaction to the moonlight…and by your presence.”

“In English, Fraser,” Ray demanded, rolling one hand in the air, wanting him to hurry up.

“It is only because I’m a werewolf that you want me… _this_ , Ray.” The words slipped out and he turned his gaze away, staring up at the moon. His throat ached with the cry he would not let out.

“A werewolf.” Ray’s response was some time in coming. Long enough for Fraser to regret the impulse that had led him to accept Ray’s offer to accompany him on this stakeout. _Fucking stakeouts_ , he thought seriously, understanding Ray’s sentiment at last.

“Can I just take a second here with this, Fraser?” Ray asked and then did not give him time to respond. “You found some sick wolf up in the Yukon and went Lon Chaney on me?”

Again without giving him a chance to answer, Ray went on, his voice getting higher. “Only you’re like this super hot werewolf. You’re the freakin’ _Cleopatra_ of werewolves, and that’s why me and everybody else in the world has been wanting to get into your pumpkin pants?”

“Er,” Fraser paused to scratch at his eyebrow. “In a nutshell, Ray.” It was really was a fairly accurate summation. So he should not have been surprised when Ray continued.

“Only you don’t give everybody else the time of day, and me you couldn’t resist.” It was unfamiliar, the scent coming from Ray, but it was salty and sharp on his tongue when Fraser opened his mouth.

It was like hot sauce, rich with peppers, and perhaps that was why his cheeks burned and his skin felt stretched and warm. Ray was watching him again, his eyes no doubt narrowed and thoughtful and it really was so much worse when Ray was calm and silent. He had expected shouting, insults, something to the effect that he was a freak as Ray would have said before. But now that he had proven Ray correct by admitting to his lycanthropic nature, it seemed Ray had nothing to say about it.

This unknown, unfamiliar Ray left him shaking, so weak even the moon could not save him.

“Hm. Ah, yes, Ray.” He replied at last, his tongue thick. “I believe you have described my problem exactly. But you needn’t worry…”

“Can I ask you something else?” Ray was even being polite, and he should have known, should have guessed that it was in Ray’s nature to keep him off balance. Ray would claim he was always chasing after Fraser, but in truth sometimes Fraser felt himself scrambling to keep up.

He looked away from the moon and into Ray’s eyes. Ray was smiling, his teeth bared just a little.

“Were you a werewolf when we were on the _Henry Allen_?” He had not noticed Ray leaning in once more, and he truly made a poor werewolf not to have felt Ray’s heat creeping back over his body. It surrounded him, a shield against the silver beams playing havoc with his senses, arousing him shamefully.

He thought perhaps he shook his head in a negative response and Ray’s grin widened into something pleased and dangerous.

“That takes care of me then, Fraser, how about you?”

“Ah. Indeed.” It did not seem adequate, but he was compelled forward at last, helplessly sliding his lips over the faint stubble along Ray’s jaw, putting his hands there when Ray shivered. Ray turned his head and looked up.

Ray could not know, could not know the temptation he offered with his lips so close, parted just beneath his. He could not mean this, even if what he had said about the _Henry Allen_ were true. But his heartbeat was tight and fast, his breath heavy, sweet and spicy. A contradiction. All Ray, and he felt himself as always reacting to the provocation in it.

“Ray,” he said, and closed eyes to the moon overhead as he kissed Ray.

Heat. Ray was heat and music and something locked in his throat, patient and proud, something hungry that made him lick at Ray’s lips, nip at his jaw. His hair was short and silky between his fingers, and Ray himself was hard, a weight shifting against him, turning until he was to the wall and trapped and he did not seem to mind, murmuring, moaning animal sounds as Fraser shoved away irritating cloth and found the skin he needed.

The salt of sweat on his tongue and the moonlight like cream and the scent, the perfect, wet scent of hunger, and he had to let go, had to pull away and throw back his head and the sound burst from him, a name, a howl. Ray.

Shifting light offered him a strange view of Ray, a tousled, flushed creature blinking at him with wide eyes, almost frightened eyes, and Fraser grew still, noticing for the first time the back of his hand pressed tight to the wall behind Ray’s head. His fur-covered hand, curved into something resembling a paw, his sharp claws scratching on the brick.

“A gay werewolf, huh?” Ray offered with a hitch in his breathing, his dazed smile loosening Fraser’s stomach before it had even begun to knot. “I fuckin’ love stakeouts with you, Fraser. Freak,” he added a moment later and licked the moonlight from his lips the way he would have savored the last taste of his coffee.


End file.
